From the Land of the Lost Blunderbuss

My Father’s Eyes

What they had seen! I remember them behind his glasses, staring intently at a book or squinting at the punch cards he was sorting for work. He was a slow reader, but then I was a frantic one so perhaps I held him to an impossible standard. When he beat me, I don’t recall that they glowed or showed particular anger. They were set to the task and nothing more. Had they shown terror once as he watched all but three members of his company fall before German guns? He never spoke of that to me and there were no images hanging in his eyes, no memories of the War that he shared with me.